VE Day
by RavenWriter8
Summary: The time was WWII. But, it wouldn't be for long. At long last, the destruction has come to an end, and the whole world can breathe again. Even Germany, despite what one may think... *A one-shot from Germany's POV, with shots of other characters and their reactions to the end of the terrible war. General Tone: Hope, nostaligia.*


**AUTHOR'S** **NOTE:** So, this is the first of the stories I will be uploading. This one was born because of a certain obsession with a particular Canadian indie rock band (Stars) and their song "Celebration Guns", which reminded me of the circumstances involved with World War II. It sort of ended up being what it is on its own, actually, and took its direction from Germany's POV. So, enjoy!

* * *

I will never forget the day the last gun was laid down at the feet of the enemy.

One by one, my men fled the scene of the battle, in a mad haste to return to the base in the conquered France, for the first time in a long while experiencing the sour taste of defeat in their mouths.

But this was a different kind of sour. It was the taste of defeat…but this time, it was also the smell of fear.

It was carried on the fresh wind, sweeping across my face from the outermost reaches of the ocean spanning across my vision, at the backs of my foes. It was in tandem with the deep cerulean waves, which had conveyed them straight to this, my final true battleground, as it were.

This day, this moment, this battle on the beach…it will be forever burned into my memory.

But, it isn't be the sort of memory that you would expect. Not for me, anyway.

As they all fled, all my supposed comrades, abandoning me, their own country, on the bleached white sand, I found myself rooted to the spot. My gun hung limply from my gloved hands, which held on in a halfhearted fashion of their own accord, as my mind swung the scene before me as if the world was performing some dizzying dance. A lock of my hair had fallen from its carefully chosen position plastered to my head, and perhaps once it would be considered a gross disgrace to my visage—but, though I took notice, for once it didn't seem to matter.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

And what did, all of a sudden rushed back into my brain, slamming into my conscious like a freight train all at once, and it was all I could do not to keel over right then and there, the heat of the late spring sun beating mercilessly down on my exhausted body.

_Everything I have ever worked for…no…is…is it all…worthless…? Is it truly…? Did…what happened…? Where am I…? What…what am I doing…? What…what have I been doing…? All this time…Adolf…_

He had been my friend, my only friend during this time of great sadness. …Hadn't he?

_…Hadn't he…?_

The bombs had been the greatest shock of my life. One by one, at first, jerking my once unscathed body, twisting it in grotesque ways, and oh, the pain, the pain…and then they became flurries, striking Berlin, Hamburg, Dresden…at first, it seemed like there was no end to the agony, and I could do nothing but curl in the corner, as far as I could get from the vulnerability of open space, somehow seeking solace in the pressing walls, and shiver.

But Adolf…he came to me, he told me, everything was going to be alright, as long as I could be strong, be as strong as my heritage and my name, _and mein bruder too,_ I thought to myself, though he didn't speak the words to me. He told me, it was a brutal attack, it only proved just how ruthless and weak-minded those Allies were. He told me I could do better.

_He believed I could do better. He believed in me…_

And…and I believed him. I did whatever he commanded, without question, from that point on. Whatever misgivings I might have had at first…I'm sorry, I simply can't remember. I may have had them, I may have not…but whatever happened, I cannot remember a thing. It was like I was in an endless trance, seeing the things that happened before me, to me, because of me, and yet, not seeing them at all. It was like they were happening to somebody else, somebody far, far away whom I didn't know nor cared about in the slightest.

Perhaps somebody who deserved it…?

_Did I deserve it?_

…

It was…something I couldn't answer. Not then. But now, after all these years, everything that has happened since that day…I have been able to face myself, even just a little. But sometimes, the littlest things count the most.

Standing on that beach, in the dizzying heat, defeated and stark…all my memories hit me all at once. The pain, the anguish I had caused, in my strange state of mind…the things I couldn't remember then, the things I wish not to recall now…all in a haze, certain things jumping out like beasts in the night…but yes, all of them were there, and they were there to torture me.

Like I had done.

For such a long time…

My memories of my moment of clarity did not survive the test of time and torment. Looking back now, it couldn't have been all at once, couldn't have all been that moment on the beach…but, there were several sights that stick in my mind to this day, and are the things that I will never, ever forget, as long as I live.

I stared, blankly, through it all, the images hazy before my eyes, and the world played in slow motion. Had I lost then? I cannot recall. Whenever it was…it was during a time of…of…

…France, raising his arms in the air, his royal blue sleeves sliding down just enough to reveal the healing, raw scars left by recently broken handcuffs, head held high as the light of relief, at long last, shone in his blue eyes…

_...What was I doing, all this time…?_

…England, his shouts rending the air and yet only appearing as echoes to my befuddled brain, gloved fists clenched tightly in his triumph as he howls his victory to the world, knowing the long, torturous struggle for his freedom was finally over, for once paying no mind to the burnt gashes still covering his ravaged body…

…America, leaping up with his hands thrown towards the sky, his own caterwauling a higher pitch, resonating with pure jubilation as he kicked up the sand below his boots—and a moment later, he's in England's arms, the once-bitter enemies abandoning their misgivings in a moment of unity, and the older nation is hugging him tightly to his chest, his shouts turning to a triumphant laughter—

_…What did I do…?_

…Somewhere, far away, Japan, hearing the news for the first time and sitting in total silence for the longest time, in his dark room, staring at nothing with numb, blank eyes as the idea sinks in: _there will be no more help from Germany. The Third Reich is finished._ He's on his own, from there on out…

—And China! Receiving the news from an informant, at first nothing, and then suddenly breaking, his tortured face splitting into a shuddering laugh of pure relief, the tears streaking freely down his dirty face at long last, knowing soon he will finally be freed from the bone-cutting chains of Japanese rule…!

_…Was…was it worth it…?_

—And somewhere else, somewhere I know quite well, Italy, letting loose a long, shuddering sigh much too big for his small body, much too heavy for his sweet mind, as the news reaches his ears…the pain is ending, for good, oh, Germany's coming home…and Romano, crying and crying, clutching the bedsheets with trembling hands as he is finally released from his exhausting duty, no longer under the control of the Fascist rule—

_…Can…I ever be forgiven…?_

—All the countries that were ever under the crushing rule—

_Will I ever be forgiven?_

—Austria sighing, a weight lifted off his chest that has been hurting him for much too long — Hungary, suddenly scooping him up and clasping his hands, spinning around with a peal of laughter, giddy with relief, and his smile, once so rare—

_Do I deserve it?_

—Belgium and Holland, finally released from their long prisons, reuniting in the dark tunnels with tears of liberation, their previous feud long forgotten in their joy — Poland, Lithuania, also in one another's arms after so, so long, separated eternally by their individual agonies, uncaring of any faults that may have mattered at some other point in time, Estonia, holding the little Latvia to his chest with tears welling in his eyes, a watery smile shivering on his lips as the younger falls to his knees, weak with relief and exhaustion, pulling him down with him, and the four are together, the questions flying in all directions, no one really answering and no one really listening as the tears fall—

_Did I deserve it?_

—Romania and Bulgaria, fatigued, resting against the shade of a stone wall still smoldering from the dimples bullets have left, chests heaving, but with triumphant smiles upon their weakened faces, the light of victory glimmering behind their eyelids, finally knowing they chose the right side in the end — Australia and New Zealand, arms and fingers tangled up together in some strange display, success brightening their dirt-streaked faces as they laugh and laugh, to no end, their efforts in Gallipoli at last proven to be worthwhile—

…_Did I deserve it…?_

…And…and mein lieber bruder…Prussia…the images of the numbers, only just beginning to fade into the skin of his mutilated shoulder…and they, too, will never leave my memory…the burns on his hands, from working in th-the ovens…th…those dreaded…

…

…I will never forget just how his face illuminated as soon as he saw me, tramping down the dust, ash-covered ground, ordering them to open the barbed gates—how tightly he embraced me, or how tightly he should have embraced me…h…how weak it really was, how weak he was…the ragged clothing barely clinging to his skinny frame, once so hard-muscled…his bloodred eyes were so dull, I…I thought he wouldn't make it out the gate…even with my help…

…but…they were…they were filled with hope…with _hope_…

…Each and every one of them…from the very first Ally to the very last Axis…they all had one thing…and that was _hope_…

_…hope…_

_ …Did we amount to something after all…?_

_ …Did it all matter, in the end…?_

_ …Is it…over…?_

_ …_

_ …Did I…deserve it…?_

_ …_

_ …Yes._

And…that very last day, that very last minute, which I will never, ever be able to forget…standing in the streets of Berlin, on March 8th, 1945…the fresh wind, the same I felt on the beach, the winds that brought change…it swept over me, ruffling my battered uniform, torn and ragged from our last battle…

…I should have tasted the sourness of defeat.

…But it was not so.

…The only thing I could taste, or feel, on that day, in that moment…

…it was relief.

Finally…after so long, so much fighting, so many deaths, so many cruelties, whomever had committed them…it was over. And we all knew it.

The cruelest of atrocities…it was _over_. And as I stood in the fresh wind, on the streets of Berlin, on March 8th, 1945, with my dearest brother at my side—I smiled.

I was free.

We were free.

As the enemy closed in on us, guns in hand—we just dropped ours. And smiled. We _breathed_, truly, for the first time in a long time. Because, for the first time in a long time, we _could_.

It should have been a time of defeat for me.

But it was not so.

_And so tomorrow, there will be another number_

_ For the one who had a name._

_ The desert wind and a perverse desire to win_

_ History, buried in shame._

_ And then the next day, how will you know your enemy_

_ By their color or your fear?_

_ One by one, you can cage them in your freedom_

_ Make them all disappear._

_ Six hundred sixty-six hundred sixty days_

_ Two guards for one uncharged._

_ This morning's paper's ink stains my fingers_

_ My hands grow darker every day._

_ Oh, the beating drums_

_ Celebration guns_

_ The thunder and the laughter_

_ The last thing they remember_

_ Oh, the beating drums_

_ Celebration guns_

_ The thunder and the laughter_

_ The last thing they remember_

_ Goodnight,_

_ Sleep light…_

_ Stranger…_

_ Goodnight,_

_ Sleep light…_

_ Stranger…  
_

_ END._


End file.
